


Let the water hold me down

by Teland



Series: love me 'til my heart stops [2]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Backstory, Choking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, F/M, First Time, Gabriel Doesn't Know How Boundaries Work, Kink Negotiation, Late Night Conversations, Light BDSM, Manipulation, Problematic Relationship Choices, Romance, Sexual Fantasy, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:55:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23122093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: "Michael, is it really so strange? So..." *He* frowns and shakes his head. "We all do what we must to have what -- who -- we *want* --""You must be *yourself* --"He *licks* her palm --She *grunts* --"I promise you, Michael: That is *precisely* what I'm doing."
Relationships: Michael Burnham/Gabriel Lorca | Mirror Gabriel Lorca, Mirror Michael Burnham/Gabriel Lorca | Mirror Gabriel Lorca
Series: love me 'til my heart stops [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1661998
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	1. It's definitely *a* thing to be fixated on.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [demigodscum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/demigodscum/gifts), [the_Jack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_Jack/gifts).



> Disclaimers: An extreme dearth of mine-ness. 
> 
> Spoilers/Timeline: Various S1 references, run through the AU filter. Takes place before the trip to Mirrorverse.
> 
> Author's Note: Direct sequel to "And you may find yourself", kicking off some days after that one ended. I was originally planning something different for the sequel to that story, but, well. 
> 
> Here we are. 
> 
> I think, in the end, there will have to be at least one more in this series. 
> 
> Acknowledgments: Deep, burning love and gratitude to demigodscum and, of course, my Jack for audiencing, encouragement, following me to objectively terrible places, dragging me back out again, and throwing soft objects at my head.

Michael believes that she is allowed to be curious about... this, and --

No. 

She pauses herself there, in the privacy of her mind. 

She *pauses* herself, even though she is continuing to move through the corridors of _Discovery_ \-- 

Even though, it seems, that she hasn't paused in any way, shape, or form since the Captain -- *Gabriel* -- had... acquired her. 

For his collection. 

She's smiling for that, despite everything, and -- there are looks for that as she moves, as she *continues on her way*. 

There are, still, people on this ship who believe the mutineer deserves no smiles whatsoever. She can't blame them. She -- 

It's one of the things which *makes* Gabriel so -- everything that he is. 

*Everything* that he is, because he has known, from the beginning, precisely how *starved* Michael was -- and is -- for... companionship. 

An open hand. 

Open *arms*. It...

It was, perhaps, the *Captain* in him who had assigned her to Tilly, who had *ensured* that the half-broken and *entirely* de-socialized *thing* that she was when she'd stepped onto this ship would get... better. 

For him. 

The question of Tyler -- *Ash* -- remains a question. 

For all three of them, Michael would wager, considering the somewhat plaintive looks and leading questions Ash has been giving her. 

She can't -- yet -- give Ash honesty. She can't *tell* him she's involved with someone else, involved with Gabriel, all but *bound* to Gabriel -- 

She'd been forced to agree with Gabriel -- under *duress* -- about that. She -- 

And the voice in her mind for this is Sarek's, for all that their bond is quiescent, for all that she is *certain* that he knows nothing of *this*. 

Michael knows the man more than well enough to know that, given certain salient facts about the situation Michael has found herself in, he *would* have more than a few things to say: 

'Perhaps you would consider the illogic inherent to binding yourself to a person who has shown themselves to be fundamentally incapable of lasting honesty.' 

Or: 

'I believe there could be benefit in spending more time in thought about this individual's goals, Michael -- especially as he seems to have avoided doing so for an alarming length of time.' 

Or: 

'While it is important for humans of your orientation to relieve themselves emotionally and sexually with other beings of complementary orientation --' 

But how *would* he end that sentence?

There truly are any *number* of ways he *could* take it, considering Gabriel's... everything. 

Especially the *one* thing that Michael has been... circling around since he'd admitted it that night. 

Since he'd admitted *everything*, and of course there had been any *number* of things to think about, and *encompass* -- 

They'd barely come up with a plan for dealing with Admiral Cornwell before the woman had *been* there, and -- 

And. 

Sarek -- and Amanda, and, possibly, her birth parents, too -- would have had a few things to say about *that*. 

Even if it was only about what to do about a man who could make their child -- *theirs* -- feel *that* way... when he looked at another woman. 

And it didn't matter that it was, as Gabriel put it, 'theater'. 

It didn't matter that he'd shown her all the files, all of *this* universe's Gabriel's private logs about his longstanding *relationship* with Cornwell -- 

There were certain ways Gabriel had to look, and act, and *behave* around Cornwell -- in public -- in order for all of this to *work*. 

And Michael hadn't been allowed to be anywhere close once Gabriel and Cornwell were in private. 

Still...

She'd had her contact lens -- and the temporary cochlear implant to go with it.

And Gabriel had encouraged her -- *asked* her -- to watch every moment. 

The fact that Michael had known he was asking her because *he* knew she was starting to feel jealous... 

It was a welcome manipulation, as are most of Gabriel's manipulations, and she *had* watched every moment. 

Watched Cornwell's shock, disbelief, rage, fear, *outrage* -- she'd been the one to take Gabriel's psychiatric evaluation not long after he'd come to this universe. 

She hadn't wanted to believe she could be fooled that easily -- which is something Michael can sympathize with *readily* -- but. 

In the end, Cornwell is an admiral for a reason. 

Michael had told Gabriel that it wouldn't be enough to lay their successes in the war effort -- and the high probability of future successes -- at her feet. They had to show her that Gabriel -- this *specific* Gabriel -- was effective precisely where he was for *multiple* reasons, *and* would only be there temporarily. 

So: 

One, the _Discovery's_ successes -- and the way their research was progressing more and more after every battle. 

Two, the *specific* research into parallel universes -- and the possibility of travel between them. It had been infuriatingly necessary to drag still more truth out of Gabriel about his own progress with this in the other universe, though -- 

("I -- fuck. That secrecy was *entirely* reflexive, Michael. Not on purpose.") And his expression had been rueful, pained -- 

Not pleading. 

Not -- 

He pleads when he lies. 

He pleads other times, as well, but -- 

When he *is* lying -- to her -- he is always, *always* begging her to accept it. 

She will never tell him this -- 

She will *quiet* the parts of her soul that speak *loudly* about giving oneself to anyone you must keep secrets from -- 

She -- no. 

She is nearly to his quarters, and she must -- 

She must order her thoughts, at least for this little time she has before he scatters them all again. It's *important*, because Cornwell had come very close to *refusing* Gabriel's proposal -- even with the possibility of multiversal travel on the table. 

And, so, *three* -- 

He had told her about the Empire, and his role *in* it. He had told her about Philippa, and what she would do with an open, undefended path to this universe. He had told Cornwell about the *Michael* from that universe, and -- 

It had been, by far, the most frightening thing she had seen or heard him do. He had spoken about Michael -- *his* Michael -- as though she were *only* the Emperor's daughter, and as though *he* were only her ally. 

His voice had been cold, hard -- clipped. 

Not sharp. Not angry -- not even when Cornwell had begun seeking for holes in his story. 

Not even -- 

But Cornwell had been looking for the sorts of weak spots -- *blind* spots -- that *her* Gabriel would've had. 

She had been making jabs at a man who had had an *adult* relationship with a woman who was, for the most part, his *equal*. 

She hadn't been making jabs at the Gabriel who had loved and lost -- a Princess. 

Michael is curious about that. So --

No, not yet. 

In the end, Gabriel had been *convincing*, and -- 

And now he -- and the _Discovery_ \-- have a new... mission. 

*Somewhat* new. 

The *best* way for them to map a path to the other universe -- perhaps *multiple* other universes -- is for them to use the spore drive as much as possible. 

The most *efficient* use of the spore drive involves them jumping to Klingon targets, removing them from the board as *completely* as possible, and then jumping away again. 

The same thing they were doing -- with a difference: They now have a greater degree of official approval for their activities, and that... 

Not every person onboard this ship resents her, or even dislikes her. 

There are any number of people onboard the _Discovery_ who appreciate her, and what she has, personally, done to advance the war effort. What she has done for their *ship*. 

Those people -- and it may be illogical, but she believes she can be forgiven for the conceit -- seem especially pleased by their new status. Their new... mandate. 

There are claps on the shoulder, grins of camaraderie, words of encouragement whether or not they seem *explicitly* warranted from moment to moment. 

Gabriel has, whether or not he *intended* to do so, created a shipboard environment where morale is just as high, just as *lively* and *bright*, as it ever was on the _Shenzhou_. 

He is... a good captain, beyond everything else that he is. 

It is, perhaps, a function of the life she lives, now, that she doesn't know whether that fact should give her pause or not. 

For now... it does not. 

Her curiosity -- and everything else -- has far too much power over the rest of her for that, and it isn't long before she's resting her palm on Gabriel's door-panel -- 

Before she's waiting, for just a *few* moments -- 

Gabriel is watching her from just behind the door. 

Gabriel is, she knows, scanning the corridor for anyone who shouldn't see -- or hear -- what he wants to do. 

She shoves her parents' voices into the *black* -- 

She tilts her chin *up* -- and smiles in the way which always seems to make him lose his grip on his control -- 

And he's yanking her *in* before the door is finished opening -- 

"*Gabriel* --" 

"Hush, now. We both know you did that on purpose," he says with just a little growl under his voice, and lifts her arms around his neck. 

She -- breathes --

He cups her hip with one big hand and her *ass* with the other -- 

He pulls her *in* -- 

He nuzzles her hairline -- 

And Michael breathes -- deeply. Better. Worse -- 

"Michael... what are you thinking?" 

"Curiosity," she says -- blurts. 

"Mm...?" He *strokes* her ass -- "What are you curious about? I'll tell you everything I know." 

Will you? "I..." 

He licks her *ear* -- "Tell me. Tell me what's got you... wound up." 

"That -- doesn't seem to be how you want to spend your *time*, Gabriel." 

He laughs, low and *hungry*. "You don't know, Michael. You still don't -- mm." 

"Gabriel -- *nnh* --" 

And he has her up on her toes -- 

Pressed *close* -- 

He's *nuzzling* her ear -- "Michael..." 

She shivers as the tiny hairs on her ear lift and settle and *lift* again -- "I am listening." 

"Every moment with you. Every moment with your *voice*." 

"Even when my questions hurt you?" 

"Mm. I think," he says, and pulls back enough to meet her gaze with his own rueful one, "that I'm *still* a lot more likely to hurt *you* with my -- silence. I'd like to keep learning how to *not* do that." 

She considers that for a moment -- 

*Studies* him -- 

And his expression turns... *wryly* pleading. 

He is not lying, but -- "You do not -- truly -- understand what you just said." 

Gabriel coughs a laugh. "Of *course* not, Michael, but -- mm." He leans in and sucks a hard, shallow kiss to her mouth. "I want to. I need to. I need *you*." He pulls back again and raises his eyebrows. "Help." 

She nods and opens her mouth to ask -- "Do you believe we have truly succeeded with Cornwell?" 

He blinks -- and raises his eyebrows. 

She blushes. "I -- no. That was *not* what I wished to ask." 

*He* nods and tugs her with him to the couch, pulling them down into -- a cuddle. 

"Oh." 

"How's this? Mm?" 

"I always enjoy this -- your arms around me." 

"I was curious about the Federation's take on proper psychology, what it takes to be healthy enough to be a soldier..." 

She strokes his chest -- "You'd mentioned..." 

She strokes his chest again -- 

Shivers -- 

She rests her head on him and waits for her *voice* to come back -- 

He squeezes her. "The studies on the amount of physical contact humans need -- and the *kinds* of physical contact humans need -- and don't need..." 

Michael coughs -- "I -- hm. I imagine those were... fascinating," she says, and tries -- 

Very hard -- no. She will *ask*.

"Hm. Gabriel. Did you. Were you..." She frowns *deeply* -- "I am not at all certain how to ask this question." 

He laughs. 

He laughs *increasingly* hard -- 

"Gabriel --" 

"Michael, mm -- my grandmothers cuddled me." 

She breathes. 

"Well, except for Nana Emilia." 

She -- stops breathing. 

"Nana Emilia... she... she was more inclined to let the dogs give the affection for her." 

"I..." 

"The dogs were exceedingly affectionate, Michael." 

Michael frowns. 

"She did make sure -- we only *bred* the cuddly types. The pigs were pretty great, too --" 

"Gabriel --" 

"The goats were --" And Gabriel -- snickers. 

In an *exceedingly* juvenile fashion. 

For an extended length of time. 

"I will, eventually, grow weary of being jostled in this manner." 

Gabriel wheezes. "I -- I apologize, but -- fuck. You *Federation* types --" 

"Gabriel." 

"Mm," he says, and kisses the top of her head. "I love being held. I love holding people -- especially you. I absolutely didn't get enough of it -- at *any* point in my life --" 

"This is what --" 

"You've been trying to tell me, I know. I know. I... I suppose I'm just trying to say that if it's true about me -- and it *is* -- then it's an *extremely* rare person in the Empire that it *isn't* true about." 

Michael shivers. She doesn't need to ask, but -- "You're... certain of that." 

He smiles ruefully into her eyes. "I am. We don't... we don't. It is, I think, one of many reasons why the *numerous* rebellions have thrived. The *rebels* hug their children. I know; we've asked. Brutally, usually." 

Michael winces. "Gabriel..." 

"I -- you have my apologies," he says, low and formal and -- not at all what she wants. 

She turns and straddles him -- the couch is only barely large enough to make it work -- and presses her palms to his chest -- 

Strokes and caresses -- 

"Gabriel..." She shakes her head. "I never want anything but your honesty." 

He raises an eyebrow. 

"I will not allow either of us to forget who you've been." 

"Even if it will make it easier to turn me into someone... a little easier to *deal* with?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Gabriel. Have you *often* known me to choose the easier path...?" 

And he... licks his teeth. 

Looks her *over*. Like -- 

Like a project that he had only *just* begun work on. 

Michael's heart is pounding just that quickly, and it takes a staggering amount of effort not to spread her legs too wide for the *couch* when Gabriel's hands find her thighs. 

When he *squeezes* -- 

When -- "Why don't you tell me what you were *really* thinking about when you came here, mm?" 

A part of Michael -- a very needy and *irritating* part -- is insisting that Gabriel's hands are far too low on her thighs. 

"Why don't you... mm. Why don't you make me be *good* and honest with you," he says, and arches up beneath her -- 

Pushes his too-clothed *cock* against her -- 

She presses down because she *must* -- 

Because he hasn't touched her there for nearly a *day* -- 

"Michael..."

"Please --" 

"I think... that I should be just a little *mean* right now," he says, gripping her hips and *lifting* her off him -- 

"No --" 

\-- even as he drops his *own* hips. "Now. Tell me what you're *thinking*," he says, and gives her a hard look, a *Captain* Lorca look, a -- 

But he's still looking into her in this moment. Still --

From the very first *day* -- 

"You. Have always looked at me -- as though you knew me." 

"I was wrong then. I'm *less* wrong now," he says, low and even and *steady*. *Sure*. 

"I --" 

"Give me," he says. "What I *want*." 

She grunts -- and breathes. Just -- 

She breathes, and lets herself think about it. 

All of it... 

"That's it, Michael... let it out. Let it out and *give* it to me. Whatever it is -- I'll take it," he says, and meets her eyes with open promise. 

Promise -- not a plea. She nods, licks her lips. "I need -- more." 

"You'll have it --" 

"I need more -- to *know* more -- about your *relationship* with. The fourteen-year-old." 

Gabriel blinks for that -- but only once. And then he nods. "I'm thinking about... but. Is there anywhere in particular you'd like me to begin? Or -- should I be asking you what about the relationship *hurts* you the most." 

Michael shudders and -- thinks of herself at that age. 

Thinks of herself alone, and lonely, because every learning center with her in it was a potential target for the extremists, and every person on the *planet* *knew* that -- 

Because every diplomatic gathering with her at Sarek's side was an *event* for her to be paraded and displayed -- 

Examined and *tested* -- 

Because every mistake, every slip, every -- 

They weren't hers, not truly. 

They were Sarek's. Sarek's failures, Sarek's poor *judgment*, Sarek's *weaknesses* -- 

In human form.

And that -- all of it -- is a reasonable *enough* place to start. 

She brings his big, hard hand to her face. 

"Michael..." 

"Tell me... if she was." Lonely. *Lonely*. "Alone. If she -- did she have anyone... else?"

"She had me, and Philippa, and -- the various people she fucked, when she felt like fucking other people." 

And how often was that? But -- that's not the question she wants to ask. 

That's not -- 

That's not the question she *must* ask -- 

"Michael? Tell me..." 

"I... would like to know if she *felt* alone," she says, and doesn't *look* at him -- 

But he shudders. He shudders *violently*, the way he hadn't, at all, for Cornwell's mis-aimed questions. 

She looks -- and he's squeezing his eyes *shut* -- but only for a moment before opening them again. 

"I think... I think, maybe, there wasn't anyone in that Empire -- anyone of *rank* -- who felt more alone than she did. Though... I think it took some time for her to *understand* that that was what she was feeling," he says, and smiles ruefully. 

Michael -- swallows. "I -- even though -- but. You said she was young when Philippa adopted her." 

"Four -- we *think*," Gabriel says. "She remembered her third birthday with her parents -- bits and pieces of it, anyway --" 

"Oh --" 

"There wasn't much after that with her parents. Not much but blood and pain, screams and --" 

"They told her -- to hide." 

Gabriel studies her for long moments -- and nods. "Exactly. I always wondered why they did that, honestly." 

She blinks. "Gabriel...?" 

"Her parents -- they had to know that Philippa's security forces would search *every* fragment of rubble for survivors. That was policy -- and had *been* policy for *decades*. Sure, some people were lazier than others, but..." He shakes his head and strokes her thighs. "Michael would've still been a toddler. Alone in the rubble, almost certainly wounded, *definitely* in shock *and* traumatized. 

"She would have witnessed -- in one way or another -- the brutal murder of *everyone* she'd ever known and loved. It --" 

"You. You think her parents should have allowed her to be killed..." And Michael is staring at Gabriel helplessly. 

Gabriel smiles ruefully. "Don't get me wrong, Michael -- my entire *existence* in that universe lit up after I met her. After she *laughed* for me. I have no *idea* what I would've become without her. But -- I never could stop thinking of what it must've been like to grow up like that for her. What it was like to be raised... well. By the woman *directly* responsible for murdering her parents.

"That sort of thing was rare, even for us." 

Michael swallows. "And." She -- follows the thought to the *logical* conclusion. "You believe that, ultimately, it would've been an act of love for her parents to kill her *themselves*." 

Gabriel inclines his head. "It happens just -- all the time. The Empire doesn't treat the children of combatants very well, after all." 

Michael closes her eyes and -- shudders. 

Gabriel strokes her thighs, her hips -- "I said all this... for a reason." 

Michael *breathes* -- and opens her eyes again. "You..." She shakes her head once. "You wish to help me understand the other Michael's state of mind. You -- did she *wish* her parents had murdered her?" 

"She never said that." 

"Then --" 

"What she *did* say -- what she *asked* me, *repeatedly*..." He licks his lips, and he meets her gaze steadily. "'Why do they have children, Gabriel?'" 

"I..." 

"'Why, when they know what will happen?' And I would... offer answers. From my -- limited -- understanding." 

"She would keep asking." 

"She would. And she would offer suggestions. 'Perhaps, in the end, it is a tactical decision. It would be reasonable to have a renewable pool of combatants.'" 

Michael -- refuses to flinch. 

Gabriel smiles wryly and inclines his head. "The rebels -- most of them anyway -- tended to eschew cloning tech. Another weakness we exploited with malice aforethought." 

Michael frowns. "Which rebels did *not* eschew cloning technology?" 

"You can't guess?" 

She doesn't stiffen. 

She doesn't --

She will not hide. Not from any part of this conversation. "Vulcans." 

Gabriel inclines his head again. "The Empire spends a lot of time, money, manpower -- everything. *Everything*. Going after the Vulcan creche facilities. They're seeded... everywhere. 

"*Everywhere*. And the learning modules for the clones... well." He looks at her. "I think you have a better idea than most how those work." 

She narrows her eyes -- 

And then she nods, once. 

And then she breathes. 

"Michael..." 

"I do not want you to stop being honest, Gabriel." Not yet. 

He searches her with his eyes and frowns. 

"Yes...?" 

"I -- I can't help but wonder if you're asking me -- ordering me -- to chase you away from me." 

She blinks... too much. 

He smiles ruefully. "I'd like to ask you not to do that." 

"Gabriel... *you* were the one who planned -- extensively -- to *bring* me to your universe." 

"Very true --" 

"To force me to *live* there." 

"Also true --" 

"To *rule* there, with you, as your *Consort*." 

"I did change my mind." 

She looks at him *precisely* the way her mothers -- both of them -- looked at her when she tried to get away with something problematic. 

It, as always, makes him cough laughter and -- 

And smile at her as though she is something wondrous, and new, and more beautiful than anything which could ever be known. 

It. 

"You take my breath away," she says, because she must be at least as honest as she forces him to be -- 

"Oh... Michael," he says, and *squeezes* her hips. "I haven't taken a deep breath since you first met my eyes." 

"Me? Or her." 

His smile for that is crooked. 

Endearing in *problematic* ways, because -- 

"Of course I was laying your image over hers, at first. Or vice versa." 

Because of that. "Tell me more of -- how you began, with her." 

He gives her another studying look, long and thoughtful. "I think..." 

"Yes?" 

"I think I need to -- think more." 

"Gabriel --" 

"Though not about how to answer your question," he says, and smiles wryly. "Philippa's instructions for me, with regards to her daughter, were as follows: 'Teach her everything she needs to know, *about* everything she needs to know.' Unspoken was the fact -- crystalline and *shining* -- that any and all failures would be punishable by the most painful *possible* death, which may or may *not* have come before she -- and Michael herself -- started having me for dinner --" 

"How." Michael frowns *helplessly*. "How much cannibalism *is* there in the Empire?" 

"As I've said, we eat our enemies -- and some of our slaves. Kelpiens --" 

"Oh." 

He nods. "They're kept as body-slaves for the especially wealthy and powerful, but they're also considered a delicacy *for* the wealthy and powerful. I... don't think you want me to say more about that," he says, and searches her again -- 

Deeply -- 

*Deeply* -- 

Michael *breathes*. "Have you... *have* you." 

"Of course. Often. Kelpiens, Vulcans, Andorians, Klingons, Terran criminals, Tellarites -- and any number of species of sentient creatures you Federation types haven't met, yet," he says, easily. *Simply*. 

"It would've been... strange not to do so." 

"Yes, it *absolutely* would've been," he says, and then -- stops. Eyes her *shrewdly*. 

"Gabriel?" 

"Would you like to excuse this crime of mine?"

She rears back -- he doesn't release her hips. 

"Would you like to tell yourself that I only ate other people because I *had* to." 

And that -- is the sort of question which must be answered, and examined, and known. "Yes," she says, and shudders. "But I understand that I cannot." 

"Do you?" 

She meets his gaze as steadily as she can. "Yes." 

And the expression on his face -- 

The look in his *eyes* -- 

It. 

"Gabriel." 

"Michael..." 

"Gabriel, I am frankly unsure what to *do* with the fact that you're *proud* of me in this moment," she says, and glares at him. 

"Hmm. You could consider enjoying it..." 

"Gabriel." 

"*Or*... you could let me say something which might -- might -- help you, if not *accept* our cannibalism, then understand it a little better." 

She frowns -- "I am very curious about this." 

"Curious enough to let me delay speaking about me and the other Michael a little longer...?" 

Michael opens her mouth -- 

*Blushes* -- 

"*When* did you begin *seducing* her?" 

"I didn't," he says, *honestly*. 

"Oh. Gabriel?" 

Another *rueful* smile. "I did not set my mind, or my heart, or my *cock* to the task of getting her into bed with me. It would've been the world's *most* painful way to commit suicide *even if I succeeded*." 

"But..." 

"But, yes. She laughed. She smiled. She *touched* me -- and asked if this way, or that way, or this *other* way were the proper ways to show *affection* for someone whose company you enjoyed. Someone who made you smile. 

"Someone. Someone you would like to make smile, in their turn," he says, and swallows -- 

And shudders -- he is looking at his memories. 

He is looking -- 

And Michael cannot stop herself from stroking him, caressing him -- 

Massaging his temples the way she *knows* the other Michael never, ever did -- 

He looks to her again, eyes wide and full. "Michael." 

She nods. 

"Should I apologize?" 

"No," Michael says, and continues to stroke him. 

"Are you *sure* about --" 

"Yes. I... am asking much of you." 

"You don't ask enough *for* yourself, you know." 

She considers that -- 

She considers that *while* stroking down the paths of his sideburns, along the curves of his ears -- 

He shivers -- 

"I believe," she says, and offers her own wry smile, "that 'asking' for this relationship, with you, is... my limit. And rather beyond, at this time." 

"Don't say that." 

"Gabriel --" 

"*Don't* say that," he says, and he sits up and pulls her against him, kisses her *hard* -- 

"*Mm* --" 

"Don't --"

"Gabriel, what was *wrong* with that answer?" 

"Listen," he says, and kisses her more gently, more -- 

He kisses all *over* her mouth, soft and breathy -- 

"Michael, my *Michael*, I -- mm. You're always going to be worth more than what anyone *says* you're worth --" 

"I --" 

"You're always going to *deserve* *better*." 

"No --" 

"Are you punishing yourself with me, Michael?" 

She inhales -- and stops. 

*Stops*. 

Breathes. 

After a moment -- a long one -- she moves her hands from Gabriel's broad chest until she can wrap her arms around his neck. And then she considers. 

She -- no. She will not hide. 

She pulls back enough to meet his eyes. "It would be dishonest of me to say that... that I have not considered being... punished." 

Gabriel narrows his eyes. "There are better ways." 

"I --" 

"There are better ways for *us* to do it." 

She stops -- and nods. "I -- know that."

"Would you like to give those ways a try." It -- 

"That... was not a question." 

"It still needs an answer, Michael," he says, and -- holds her hips more tightly. More *firmly*. 

"I -- what is *your* answer --" 

"You already know that." 

She lets her teeth click shut, because -- she does. Anything for her, at any time, for any reason -- or none. But. "I... would not enjoy that, with you, unless." 

"Say it." 

Michael grunts -- but manages not to jump. Barely. "Gabriel, I would need *you* to enjoy it. I would need --" 

He tilts his head to the side -- 

His eyes narrow in the smile which always makes every part of her *heat*, whether or not he shows his teeth. 

He shows his teeth this time. "Did you think I wouldn't...? Mm? Did you think I wouldn't love every *second* of... mm. Showing you *how* to be a good girl for me...?" 

And she clenches for that -- 

She knows, with the clarity of a mathematical absolute, that there will almost certainly never be a time when Gabriel says something along those lines and she does *not* clench for it -- but. 

She also knows other things. 

"Tell me what you're *thinking*, Michael. Give me --" 

"This was... one of the things you had with her. One of the aspects of your relationship." 

He closes his eyes slightly too long for it to be a blink -- "Yes." 

"Then --" 

"Wait." 

"Gabriel --" 

"*Let* me tell you more about it. Please," he says, and his gaze is still steady, still clear, still -- 

And Michael still needs every moment of this. "I am listening." 

"First and foremost -- it would be, I think, *just* as bad an idea to *deny* ourselves everything I had with the Michael in the other universe as it would be for us to try to recreate it right down to the last come-spatter." 

Michael *coughs* -- 

And Gabriel hums and squeezes her hips again. "Michael. Either way? We would be obsessing about it. *Focused* on it, and on who I *used* to be, and on who you *aren't*... as opposed to on who we *are*." 

That... she can't help but frown at him. 

"No? I thought that was a really *healthy* statement. By Federation standards, anyway," he says, and the smile on his mouth is crooked. 

The smile in his eyes is bleak and needy and -- pleading. 

So -- 

She cups his face.

He shivers *violently* -- "I love the way you *see* me --" 

"Please tell me what I see in *this* moment, Gabriel. Tell me -- no. A part of you is not certain you have made the right choices. A part of you believes you should have continued to lie to me --" 

"*No* --" 

"-- in order to be able to build, with me, a life as close as possible to the one you had with the *other* Michael --" 

"It." 

"Gabriel." She raises an eyebrow. 

He nods once, and takes one of her hands in his own. He rubs firm circles in the palm with his thumb -- "Do you like that?" 

"It arouses me. But --" 

"Thank you," he says, and presses even more firmly for a moment before bringing Michael's hand to his mouth and nipping the fingers. "I want -- I don't *only* want to un-ring the bell for *selfish* reasons," he says, and smiles at her from *over* her fingers. "We'd *both* have an easier time of it if I'd just continued my program of... turning you." And he -- stops. 

Waits -- 

Waits for *her*, and -- 

"You were doing... just that."

"Yes, Michael." 

"You were doing that -- I was *letting* you --" 

"You still are, but there are more roadblocks. Safeguards? It's a rockier, more painful path for you. More painful than anything I ever wanted for you," he says, easily. *Honestly*. 

She frowns. "I will not let you turn me aside from my fundamental morality, Gabriel." 

"All right," he says, and does not smile -- 

Or wink -- 

Or...

She frowns more deeply. 

"Michael --" 

"You are... a gentle interrogator." 

"From time to time, yes. When that's what's called for." 

"'A delicate touch'." 

"When one is needed." 

"With me?" 

"Any touch. *Every* touch --" 

"Don't --" 

"Michael, is it really so strange? So..." *He* frowns and shakes his head. "We all do what we must to have what -- who -- we *want* --" 

"You must be *yourself* --" 

He *licks* her palm -- 

She *grunts* -- 

"I promise you, Michael: That is *precisely* what I'm doing." 

She squeezes her eyes shut -- 

"Ask me -- something else. Or tell me --"

"When did you -- you programmed her. *Turned* her." 

"More programming than turning, though the former *was* the latter, for all intents and purposes. Philippa's training -- and programming -- left Michael with massive weaknesses in her psyche. Vulnerabilities that I had to find, and map the length and breadth of, and teach her to do the *same* --" 

"Even as you taught her to trust *you* with those vulnerabilities." 

"Trust is a necessity from time to time -- even in the Empire. She hadn't been allowed to trust anyone for some aspects of her life and training -- not even Philippa -- and *those* weaknesses ran right down to the bone. 

"They do in *most* people who rise high *enough* in the Empire --" 

"And this... is how *you* rose." 

Gabriel inclines his head. "The velvet glove, Michael. Everyone -- *everyone* -- needs something a little bit soft *sometimes* -- or they lose the ability to keep themselves honed in other ways. 

"They lose the ability to keep the right *parts* of themselves honed, in the right ways, for the right people, at the right *times*. 

"Michael, when I came to her, was a blade with no *hilt*. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that she was *holding* blades with no hilts --" 

"She was cutting -- hurting -- herself." 

"Habitually -- if not literally. Well. Not literally *physically*." 

"Emotionally, then." 

Gabriel smiles wryly again. "You know your own mind as well as anyone can, Michael --" 

"I --" 

"-- and you know *precisely* what you can and *will* do to yourself when you're left to your own devices after one failure -- or 'failure' -- or another. After one *incident* or another which proves, once again, that you'll never have *true* peers --" 

"Stop." 

"I -- didn't say that correctly. I'd like the opportunity to revise," he says. 

She looks at him -- she does her best to look *through* him to whatever he has instead of a solid core of *truth* -- 

"Mm. Michael. *Let* me revise," he says, and there's a hungry growl under his voice. A *needy* -- 

It makes her spine want to *arch* -- "Revise." 

"Thank you: You'll have true peers, Michael. I'll make sure of it assuming you don't continue the process of doing so *yourself* --" 

"You." She opens her mouth and closes it again -- no. "You did not assign me to *work* with Tilly and Paul --" 

"Tilly is still Tilly even though Stamets is Paul?" 

"Tilly enjoys the nature of military camaraderie --" 

"*Really* --" 

"Let me *finish*." 

"*Please* do -- and kindly forgive me for wanting to know everything even tangentially related to you, and the universe we inhabit *together*." 

She inhales -- 

*Fights* back a glare -- 

Gabriel's eyes are *glittering* at her -- 

But -- she need not respond to *every* goad. "Gabriel." 

"I'm listening to *every* word you say." 

"You did *not* assign me to *work* with Tilly and Paul because you wished to improve the depth of my social calendar, Gabriel." 

"Very true --" 

"Nor did you drag Ash back from that prison-ship because you wished to improve my ability to *flirt*." 

"I. Thought about you..." 

"*Gabriel* --" 

"I thought about you the whole *damned* time I was there, Michael. Getting back to you. Getting back to your *side*. I -- no. You're right. I had other plans for you, and for you with your *friends* --" 

"Do not say that *word* that way!"

Gabriel grunts -- and stops. 

And inhales -- 

And smiles again, rueful and somewhat wild. "It's the only way I know." 

She blinks -- and then nods, slowly. "I need you... to learn other ways." 

He tilts his head to the side. "How sure are you that *you* know other ways?" 

"I need us *both* to learn other ways," she says, and smiles wryly. "Together, perhaps." 

He cups her hands in his own. "It would be my pleasure. Now tell me what else --" 

"How often did she wish for you to punish her?" 

"It varied. I couldn't predict it -- at first." 

"No?" 

"No. At *first*, I thought she'd want it... often. That she had been so conditioned to view herself as *lesser* by Philippa, as a *failure*... well. I believe *you* know the psychology for that, Michael. It's not so different where I come from." 

She nods. "But that wasn't the case." 

"Not at all," he says, and -- obviously smiles at a memory. "She was... larger than that. Greater. She shrugged *off* her sense of failure --" 

"All of it?" 

"That was a very telling question, Michael..." 

"Please answer it anyway." 

"As you say," he says, and lifts her hands to his mouth again. "Philippa never put a piece of her soul in Michael --" 

"Don't --" 

"Philippa never had the *ability* to reach out to Michael from a distance... and look down on her and all her *works* --" 

"He isn't -- that isn't --" 

"No?" 

"*No*!" 

"Then why do you feel this way? Mm? Because Amanda Grayson absolutely *isn't* the type to put that kind of crimp in a child's psyche -- not from the way you look and act and breathe and *move* when you're talking about her -- and neither were your birth-parents." And. 

His grip on her hands is firm, but not unbreakable. 

The questions in his *eyes* are firm -- and not overbearing. Not -- 

She is still *straddling* him, and he is hard for her, waiting for her, open for her, and Michael knows, in this moment, that, if she pushed them *away* from this line of questioning -- 

If she tugged her hands away -- like so -- 

If she caressed his strong chest -- 

Thumbed his nipples -- 

"Should I let you, Michael...? Or should I push us toward something... healthier." It's not a question. 

It's not a *question* -- 

But it is, of course, the *Sarek* who lives in her mind -- not the true one who lives in her *soul* -- who is pointing out -- 

With *implacable* logic -- 

That it is almost certainly poor planning, at the very least, to allow oneself to engage in intimate behavior with a person one does not wish to engage in intimate *conversation* with. 

She smiles ruefully and moves her hands to Gabriel's shoulders -- 

"You didn't *have* to do that..." 

"Yes, I did." 

"No," he says, and cups her chin, tilting her face up -- 

Looking *into* her -- 

"The fact that I don't want you to *use* me... has nothing whatsoever to do with moments like *these*, Michael." 

"Are you quite certain about *that*?" 

"Yes," he says, low and -- sure. He leans in to lick a path across her lips. "You can let me give you peace, Michael. You can let me... make at least *some* things a little better." 

"You *do*, and -- and I do not see the difference between that and *using* you, if *when* I ask for -- *demand* -- lovemaking, *you* are trying to --" 

"Interrogate you...?" 

Michael frowns.

"That was, in fact, what I was doing. And I did it with her, too, before you ask. I do it with everyone. I'm not often much good at having conversations -- not when it actually matters," he says, and smiles again. Gently. "Michael..." He shakes his head. "I want everything, and I want to *give* you everything, and I want you to *take* everything. Sometimes, those three things are all the *same* thing. Sometimes? They're not. *We're* still finding our way, so..." He shrugs. "We're bound to trip ourselves up, now and again." 

"I don't want -- to hurt you." 

He raises an eyebrow. 

Michael flushes and -- doesn't let herself turn away. 

"Perhaps," he says, releasing her hands and stroking down her sides, cupping her hips --- "Perhaps you'd like to hurt me in *every* way I've hurt you. Every way I've... mm. Opened up all your secret places and *bared* them."

"Tasted -- I." 

Gabriel takes a breath -- and leans in to breathe hot and damp against her ear. "Michael... we don't have to say one word tonight about anything that hurts either of us." 

"I -- I --" 

"We don't have to be good, or healthy, or... mm. Adult...?" 

"Gabriel --" 

"We don't," he says, and licks into her ear, slow and wet and -- so hot. So -- 

"Please --" 

"I promise. I'll always keep my promises to you..." 

"I..." Michael squeezes her eyes shut.

And Gabriel sighs and wraps his arms around her. Squeezes her -- "Tell me. Tell me what you *need* to tell me." 

"I..." 

"What you've been... dancing around, this last little while. What you're... maybe a little ashamed of?" 

They are close enough, now, that Gabriel can almost certainly feel how much she's blushing. But... "I always... want to confess. With you." 

"We can play that game, too..." 

"Oh." 

"I could... mm. I could *make* you confess, Michael. I promise I know all *sorts* of ways to make that --" 

Michael grunts *as* her stomach clenches. "Please -- don't." 

"Hm. Perhaps we'll revisit that... another time," he says, and there's a laugh under his voice. There -- 

"I love your laughter." 

"Do you...?" 

"Yes. I don't..." Make very many people happy. 

"Why don't you finish that thought..." 

"I'd rather not... at the moment." 

He kisses her cheek. "Fair enough. Tell me what you *do* want to tell me." 

"I --" But a rough noise comes out of her, dark and hungry -- 

"Oh, Michael... say it into my *mouth*," he says, and kisses her -- not hard. 

He kisses her *wetly*, *hungrily* -- 

It seems as though he's *pulling* her breath into his mouth, her soul, her -- 

Everything she *is* -- 

But then he slips his tongue deep, and she's the one pulling, needing, *demanding* -- 

He pulls back. "Tell me," he says, and kisses her again -- 

Again -- 

*Again* --

She pants -- "I want -- I would've wanted --" 

He bites her *upper* lip -- 

She groans and *bucks* -- 

"More, Michael." 

"*You*. I would've -- I can't stop thinking about it. About what I would've done... if you had come to me. When I was fourteen," she says, and pants more, and more, and *reaches* for the kiss -- 

And Gabriel is growling into her mouth, clutching her, biting and sucking at her lips -- 

"*Please*!" 

He lifts her off the couch -- 

"Oh --" 

He urges her to wrap her legs around his hips and her arms around his neck and let herself be *carried* to the bedroom -- 

"Yes -- yes, I -- do you like --" 

"I love it, I love you, I want --" He buries his face against her throat and *bites*, gripping her ass in both hands -- 

*Spreading* her ass -- 

She gasps and grinds against him *helplessly* -- 

"*Michael*," he says, and it's slurred into her skin, groaned -- "No, I -- this," he says, and lays her down gently, *carefully* -- 

"Gabriel, *please* --" 

"*I'm* going to get naked. You -- mm. Do you want to? Is it time for that?" And Gabriel starts stripping quickly, efficiently -- 

His eyes are *wild* -- 

And Michael can't imagine keeping her clothes on for one more *moment*.

Still, it's slower when you're lying on a bed to strip, and Gabriel winds up helping her. Helping and stroking and caressing -- 

Kissing the medial surfaces of her knees -- 

Biting her *toes*, and that is, perhaps, a bit excessive even for *him* -- 

"Gabriel --" 

"You've never -- told me a fantasy before." 

"Oh." She licks her lips -- 

He licks *his*. "You didn't exactly start *small*," he says, and tosses her socks across the room. 

"I -- hm. I..." 

"Tell me more," he says, taking her bra from her, sniffing it, and then tossing *it* away -- 

"There isn't much --" 

"Give me -- all of it. Please," he says, looming over her with his thighs holding hers spread -- 

With his broad torso shadowing *everything* -- 

"Please."


	2. It's important to learn about other cultures so that we can grow as people.

Michael shifts beneath him -- a little. Enough to get her ass canted upward a little. 

Enough to *rest* it on those thighs -- 

Enough to give herself the feel of all that hair and warm skin and *muscle* -- 

And Gabriel is looking at her as if he knows precisely what she's thinking and finds it *endearing*. 

The part of her which does not want to put up with that... is the same part of her which has been trying to convince her genitals to function on a seven-year cycle for an entirely predictable length of time. 

It is not a *small* part of her, and it is exceedingly *vocal* -- 

But Gabriel can gag it with a touch. A *look*. 

Gabriel -- 

He is studying her again -- very obviously *planning* his next *several* moves with her -- 

Michael has no doubt that they will be devastating -- but. 

All she can think, in this moment, is that she wants to talk to him. Wants to tell him that he makes her feel more human than she ever *has* -- 

"Michael," he says, licking his lips and tracing a path along her collarbone with the fingers of one hand even as he circles her navel with the other. "Is it hard to talk about...? Would you maybe like to..." He sighs and strokes up from her collarbone to her throat -- 

Cups it for a moment --

And then moves his fingers to her mouth, rubbing back and forth and back again. "Maybe you'd like to show me, mm? Show me... everything." 

"I'd like --" And she stops. She -- 

"Yes...?" 

It's not that the words stick in her throat. It's not that, at all. It's -- 

She smiles up at her lover. 

Up at Gabriel *Lorca*: Murderer, torturer, cannibal, pederast, *liar* -- and who knows how many other things that make the word 'unsuitable' hysterically laughable. 

She smiles at him, and watches him wonder what it means even as he enjoys it. Even as he all but *basks* in it -- the way he basks in each and every one of her smiles. 

In each and every moment of her *presence*, just as if she were the representative of some utterly ridiculous and improbably fantastical deity, come to announce the -- no. 

Just as if she were the deity *herself*, come to *bless* Gabriel with every touch, every *look*, every -- but. 

This is, perhaps, what must be *said*: "Gabriel..." 

"You have my *utmost* attention, Michael." 

"I..." She lets herself smile more broadly, more openly, more -- more the way she *wants* to for this man, in this bed, in this moment away from everything she's supposed to be. 

He smiles with her, and caresses her cheek -- "Tell me." 

"Amanda... spent a significant amount of time, once I was her and Sarek's ward, trying -- and failing -- to remind me of my... humanity. Reminding me to keep it, and cherish it, and -- hold on *to* it." 

Gabriel inhales. "I think I'm in love..." 

She looks at him. "She would not appreciate your *speciesism*, Gabriel." 

"I have never *once* said *anything* that implied I was more contemptuous of --" 

"Gabriel." 

Gabriel hums. "For the record...? *My* speciesism has always been far more... situational than ingrained." 

"Has it." 

"I was born in the heart of the Empire to fanatically loyal Empire citizens who died *serving* the Empire. I was then *raised* by other loyal Empire citizens. I was raised knowing that we -- *we*, not they -- were at war with -- nearly -- every other species *my* species had met, and that the species we were *not* at war with had only reached their peaceful status with us because we had *taught* them the proper way of *doing* things." 

That... she raises an eyebrow at him. 

He hums again -- and inclines his head. "I had questions. Of course I did. Even before I rose high enough to get assigned to interrogation duty. That was, in fact, why I worked so hard to *get* assigned to interrogation duty. I learned... mm. 

"I learned about the nature of *relativity*, Michael. I promise you that I did," he says, and tilts his head to the side. "But it was still Vulcan rebels -- I was never certain if they were clones -- who destroyed my first lover's ship." 

Michael grunts -- "I --" 

"Shh. Don't..." He shakes his head. "She wasn't... it wasn't like *this*, Michael. I was young. I hadn't learned *how* to vet a person to the point where I knew -- with surety -- that I could entirely trust them. 

"That I could *relax* around them." 

"You -- never relaxed around her." 

"No. And, knowing what I know *now*, I sincerely doubt I truly would have been able to do so. But... I wanted to. That sort of thing can fuel a great deal of resentment." 

"And --" She shakes her own head. "I... need you to..." 

"Put my prejudices aside...?" He caresses her again. "I *think* I'm doing a *fairly* good job with that, Michael. I promise you that I *have* been working on it steadily." 

"I -- yes?" 

He smiles... sharply. "As an example: I'm *extremely* happy Sarek got his hands on you before Philippa did in *this* universe." 

She *coughs*, but -- "Are you?" 

He gives her an *incredulous* look. "Michael." 

"Gabriel, *are* you?" 

"Of *course* --" 

"*Philippa* -- your Philippa was *human* --" 

"Not by anything resembling *your* standards, Michael," he says, and smiles wryly. 

"But by your *own* --" 

"Mm, I..." And Gabriel shakes his head. 

"Gabriel...?" 

"I want to..." He cups her thighs and strokes them -- 

Squeezes -- 

"I want to say that she was far beyond even the sort of pathological -- *mostly* by your standards, you understand -- belief systems and behaviors that we lived by, but..." 

"You can't?" 

"No," he says, and the smile is pained on his face. "She embodies us, just the way an Emperor should. She *perfects* the Empire's *ideals* -- such as they are. She is the strongest, hardest, boldest, bravest, steadiest, and *smartest* of us. Of *us* -- no one else. She has countless enemies among the *nobility*, but only because she's so well beloved -- and *comfortably* feared -- by the people living well planetside.

"The nobility all want to prove they can do it better than she does. With more inherent *greatness*, though, truly, without any *substantive* policy changes," he says, and barks a derisive laugh. "I was no different, really. I just wanted to do it with a *partner*." 

And that... "You can admit that a Vulcan can raise a child better than a Terran." 

His smile turns... wicked. "Well. We can -- and should -- discuss *everything* that goes through your mind when you hear Sarek's voice *in* your mind..." 

She blushes *violently* -- 

"Oh, Michael... I did the *reading* about this, too --" 

"Don't --" 

"I'll give you *everything* you need, in any form --" 

"You make me feel *human*," she blurts, because -- 

Because it needs to be said. 

Because she needs to *confess* -- though, at this point, there is some question about whom she should be giving her confession *to*. 

Gabriel... 

Gabriel is looming over her again. Moving -- 

He grips the pillow beside her face with one hand and presses the thumb of his other hand to the corner of her mouth and he -- "Tell me," he says, and *pants*. "Tell me what that means." 

"I don't --" 

"You do. You *do* know, and. I need to know, too," he says, and drags his thumb back and forth and back -- 

Rubs her mouth *sensitive* -- 

"*Tell* me, Michael." 

"I -- humans are -- inherently irrational --" 

"Are we, now..." 

"Illogical and -- driven by emotion. Led --" 

"By our *needs*, Michael? Mm? By our... drives?" 

"I --" 

He shoves his thumb in her mouth -- 

She grunts messily and *sucks* -- 

"Oh, Michael, Michael... do you like it?" 

She nods, reaching up to cup his hand with both of hers -- 

"Do you like being a *lesser* species...?" 

*Fuck* -- 

Gabriel laughs hard -- and doesn't move his thumb even when she pushes. "Shh, Michael, shh. We can *work* with this..." 

"*Mm* --" 

He shakes his head slowly. "Wait for me, honey. Just wait." 

She narrows her eyes. 

He smiles like -- like some holo of a *demon*. "Your fantasy, Michael -- and mine, too." 

She raises as pointed an eyebrow as she *can* -- 

"You've spent... mm. Not your *whole* life, no, but *most* of it -- believing, way down deep where it counts -- two *very* different things, Michael. Two *opposite* things." 

She *looks* at him. 

"No...? All right, this: One: Vulcans -- even the least of them -- do things *better* when it comes to their emotions, and their beliefs, and their drives, and their *hungers*... and how they let all of those things treat them, guide them, and *move* them." 

Oh. 

He smiles more broadly as he -- sees her. "*Two*," he says, and slips his thumb from her mouth slowly and *sensuously* -- and then wiggles two fingers in front of her face. 

"I know --" 

"Two, Michael: All species are created *equal*. All species, no matter how they approach the great questions of emotion, religion, violence, sexuality -- well. All of them -- all of *us* -- are equal. We may need a little education about this or that, a few misconceptions cleared up in the interest of helping us all live up to our baseline and *fundamental* *potential*... but there is nothing -- *nothing* -- wrong with *any* of us," he says, and continues to smile. 

She shudders.

He inclines his head. "Your heart -- your soul -- is at war. Of course it is. Of course it *has* to be --" 

"It isn't -- Sarek didn't *do* this --" 

"I know," he says, quiet and sure. 

She blinks and studies him -- 

His smile this time is gentle -- and not at all pleading. "Ultimately, Michael... I'd have a great deal *less* difficulty getting around his *influence* on you if he *had* been the sort of man to fill your mind -- deliberately -- with all this prejudice. Think about it." 

She -- breathes. 

And does just that. It...

That -- she frowns. "I would have... resented him. More deeply than I already do. On more *levels* than I already do." 

"That's right. You would've been a much, much easier mark for someone like *me*," he says, and raises an eyebrow -- 

Invites her to *think* about exactly how easy a *mark* she already *is* -- or. 

Perhaps... he is only inviting her to say more, to give more, to... continue this. 

Or perhaps, knowing what she does about his staggeringly, *breathtakingly* contrary nature... it is both, *and* some other thing which she has not dug *deeply* enough within him to *know*, yet. 

For now... she wants more. She wants -- 

While she is here, in this bed, with this man touching her and looking at her and *speaking* with her -- 

She does not have to ask *why*.

*All* she must do... is everything it takes to *get* more. 

"Mm. You look like you just made a decision..." 

"I did. Tell me... you said this was your fantasy." 

He grins at her, and strokes her chin with his wet thumb. "You *have* to know what a *thrill* it is to watch your pure and *perfectly*-educated Federation mind flirt with... apostasy." 

She feels entirely justified in letting herself make a face. 

Gabriel laughs brightly, sweetly. "Oh, Michael. We just *established* that a part of you -- a *significant* part of you -- believes that one of the *founding species* of the Federation is fundamentally *inferior* --" 

"I --" 

"The fact that that species is your *own*... well. That's a *particularly* interesting knot to untangle, don't you think?" 

She opens her mouth -- closes it. 

She *considers* what she has been *given* with this man -- 

*From* this man -- "Gabriel, are you a *trained* psychologist in the Empire?" 

He smiles sharply -- proudly. "You have to be, if you mean to make any inroads among the interrogators. It wasn't my... vocation?" 

She makes another *face* -- 

He laughs *hard*. "You're so incredible -- mm. Let us say, instead, that it's been *incalculably* useful -- there *and* here. Especially considering the fact that, in the Empire, we're allowed to perform the sorts of experiments on the populace that are -- generally -- frowned upon here." 

"I." 

"The information has been remarkably valuable, Michael -- in terms of helping me relate with the traumatized, the victimized, and -- the broken," he says, and his smile is much less bright. It. 

"You seem, in this moment, as though you are smiling around broken glass -- you are remembering the other Michael," she says, and winces. 

"I am," he says, and takes a shuddering breath. "I'm thinking about... oh, a few things about her." 

"Please tell me," she says, and cups his hand in both of her own again. 

He studies her -- and nods. "She hated humanity, too." 

"Oh. I -- I don't..." Michael stops and shakes her head. "I will... approach that thought another time." 

"Yes?" 

"Yes. For now, I will only say that it does not seem like a *hatred* for humanity. Within me, I mean." 

Gabriel inclines his head. "I am *more* than willing to trust you on that score, Michael." 

"I -- are you?" 

"Yes," he says, kneeling up and tugging his hand away -- preparing to tick off points on his fingers. "You eat human foods. You use human languages -- including human casual idioms and *oaths*. You have at least *two* human role models --" 

"More than that --" 

"Mm. Two that *I* have been able to observe," he says, and grins. "You do *not* disdain the touch *or* the companionship of your human shipmates, when it is offered to you -- and, by all reports, you didn't do it when you had other options, either." 

"No, I did *not* --" 

"You almost certainly don't engage in self-injury or other forms of abuse -- hm." 

She *looks* at him. 

He looks at *her*. 

"*Gabriel* --" 

"How *much* time would you say you spend *arguing* with your beautiful cunt about its tendency to want sex more often than once every seven years or so...?" 

Fuck. "I..." 

"Shall I take that as an answer...?" 

She sits up on her elbows and smiles wryly. "I would like to state, for the record, that your advent into my romantic and sexual life has caused me to have such arguments rather *less* often." 

"*Really*." 

"*Yes*, Gabriel." 

He smiles -- delightedly. He... 

"I do not think I have ever seen you look so... young." 

He blinks. "I -- hm." He *blushes* -- 

"Gabriel...?" 

"I believe I was..." He coughs -- 

"What --" 

"Ah..." He smiles wryly. "A very small, loud, and, yes, *young* part of me... started thinking about bringing you home to the farm again --" 

Michael *chokes* -- 

"I *recognize* that that's not the most *optimal* --" 

"Gabriel." 

He strokes over his -- lightly -- stubbled face. "Let me try that again." 

She raises an eyebrow. 

"Mm. I am very, very, *very* happy that I make *something* in your magnificent mind... peaceful --" 

"You make *many* things peaceful, and --" 

"-- *and*," he says, and raises his own eyebrow. "It's not so strange, even in the Empire, to want to celebrate feelings like that." 

She -- closes her mouth and *considers*. 

He moves his hands back to her thighs -- 

He strokes and caresses and pushes his thumbs into the creases between her thighs and her mound -- 

She arches up because she *must* -- 

He hums -- 

"I think -- I wonder if people in the Empire generally have short *courtships*." 

"Compared to what I've seen of the Federation...? Absolutely," he says, and works his thumbs back and forth -- 

In and *out* of her creases -- 

He sighs. "Finding someone you can trust -- who can quiet the *screaming* inside you, even if it's just a matter of turning the volume down *slightly* -- well. You're going to *attach* yourself to a person like that if you've got half a brain in your head." 

"Oh..." 

"No matter what they look like, no matter how old they are, no matter what your actual *orientation* is -- *none* of it matters. My Nanas told me that my parents didn't share the same *floor* of the house we lived in, much less the same bedroom. They made a child *for* the Empire, and because they enjoyed each other -- trusted and *liked* each other -- enough to believe that they could make it *work*. They had, apparently, known each other for approximately eleven weeks before they had their birth control implants removed."

Michael tries, very hard, not to look *horrified* -- 

Gabriel grins and blows a kiss. "Don't worry, darlin'. I know your people are more measured and sedate about these things." 

"Gabriel." 

"I won't ask you to remove *your* implant for at least another three, four days --" 

The noise Michael makes -- is itself. 

And he is laughing at her. Of course. It -- 

Wait. "Gabriel, what of *your* implant?" 

"Entirely in place -- and renewed as of my last *Starfleet* physical, which was a little more than six months ago," he says -- honestly. 

She breathes. 

"I had no intention of getting you pregnant *here*, Michael," he says quietly. 

"You wanted that -- with me as your Consort." 

"And then, later, with you as my farmwife," he says, and laughs *painfully*. "Can I just --" 

"No." 

"Have you even *met* a goat, Michael? They're extremely intelligent --" 

"They are also *delicious* --" 

"Mm. They truly are -- and you haven't lived until you've eaten one you slaughtered yourself --" 

"Oh -- I did not think this conversational gambit through," she says, and laughs ruefully, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

"I... is this where I make you feel better about the cannibalism?" 

"*How*?" 

"I mean, I *could* go straight to making you feel better about loathing your own species --" 

"I do not -- no, tell me about the *cannibalism*!" 

"I should say -- the speciesism thing *will* almost certainly lead to us fucking like... animals," he says. *Insouciantly*. 

She looks at him. 

He raises his eyebrows. 

"Where, precisely, will the *cannibalism* conversation lead?" 

"Well, while I *have* made some calculations based on your psych evaluations..." 

"Yes?" 

"I have no *idea*," he says, and grins -- like a child. 

Like a child faced with the universe's *most* complex and interesting and exciting and *dangerous* plaything --

And it is only a *fact* of Michael's existence that she enjoys -- loves -- being absolutely all of those things. 

More. "Then, please, *make* me feel *better* about your habitual *cannibalism*." 

"As you *say*," he says, and dips his head -- 

Kneels up straight and tall -- 

And his gesture takes in... everything. The two of them, the ship, the -- multiverse. 

"I am listening, Gabriel." 

"Life? Feeds on *life*, Michael. From the very smallest microorganisms to the most massive megafauna. *Everything* -- and *everyone* -- needs to eat." 

"That... is all you have?" 

"Wait," he says, and holds up a hand. "There was a time, in the Empire, when we were far, far more delicate about such things. When our attitudes about cannibalism were nearly *identical* to your own. And then --" 

"There was a famine?" 

"A *system*-spanning -- not continent and not planet, but *system* -- famine. We've never been the best at living within our means. At -- your word for it is sustainability. We're terrible at it. We were when we were bound to Terra and we are *now*. In the end, though..." He shakes his head. "We were going to lose that system, and *nearly* everyone in it. The crops weren't growing. The beasts were dying. The fish were poisoned. The *insects* were dropping dead. All of it. *All* of it." 

"What..." 

"War, Michael. War the way the *Empire* does it. *We are bad at this*. Remember that. But listen," he says, and looks *into* her. 

She nods. "I am listening." 

"We had -- the Emperor was young, back then. Jonathan Archer. I've studied the histories extensively -- I had *questions* -- and if you read between the lines, you could see that most people thought he wouldn't last. It was one crisis after another, and he was bad at putting the fires out. 

"Until the famine." 

"He... ordered everyone in the system to begin practicing cannibalism?" 

"No, Michael," Gabriel says, and his smile is -- hard. "The order was for the *entire* Empire. Every system. Every planet. Every backwater *outpost*. And he damned well laid down rules for it. Who could be eaten and when. Which criminal offenses could be punished with having your corpse eaten. When and where prisoners of war could and *should* be sacrificed for the pot. When and where *slaves* could and should be sacrificed -- and so on. And none of this was wholesale slaughter. 

"Archer -- or his advisers -- knew full well that the Empire would crumble starting with him if he'd ordered something like that. It was pure -- and purely *bureaucratic* -- mastery. And did it by going a little further with what we already *had*. What we already *knew*." 

"But... you said you were more like *us*, Gabriel --" 

"And we were, but -- not completely. See, before we developed warp, before we left Terra, we'd wrecked our home-world pretty badly. We'd caused so many *extinctions* -- and we'd caused extinctions of any number of our *food* species. That made us... get a little serious about things. *As* a species," he says, and then stops -- 

Looks *away* --

Frowns at something... 

"Are you... attempting to find the right words?" 

"Yes, because... you know very little about religion." 

"I have studied --" 

"You've *studied* religion from a *Vulcan* perspective. Yes?" 

She blushes -- "Yes. You are going to say... Terrans developed a sort of religion about their *food*." 

"That's right. And there wasn't any sort of deity to worship -- we're not good at that, either. But the ritual was *vital*. The ritual -- noting what you ate, how much you ate, how much you shared with your family unit, how much was left for storage, how much was recycled, how much was composted and/or fed to the next generation of food-animals -- 

"The ritual was *everything*, Michael. And even though it's fallen off to a *certain* extent among the nobility? The *little* people -- Empire and rebel, cannibal and not -- follow it to the letter to this day. 

"Even though the planets have been *repaired*. 

"Even though the *useful* species have been resurrected. 

"Even though the useful *people* aren't starving, anymore, and we don't *have* to eat people if we don't want to. Archer set down an *edict* that *saved the Empire* -- while uplifting a longstanding quasi-religious *hunger* within us. 

"Life feeds on life, Michael. And while we hardly ever honor the people who feed us, we honor the *act* of being fed. We honor the *blessing* of it -- and we are small before it, and faithful, and full of gratitude." 

Michael looks at him, and... tries to... 

"Hmm. No?" 

She tries not to...

Gabriel laughs. "*One* of the reactions I thought was *most* likely was --" 

"What -- no." 

"Mm? I shouldn't tell you?" 

She narrows her eyes -- she stops that. 

She takes a deep breath -- 

She licks her lips -- "I cannot help but wonder..." 

"Yes...?" 

"I am having... a number of horrifying -- and yet terribly plausible -- thoughts about what might happen should I ask your personal replicator for a well-seared cutlet of human *loin*." 

Gabriel's cock jerks... violently, spattering her thighs and abdomen with pre-ejaculate.

Michael sighs. She had asked for *precisely* that. 

"Are you saying you *don't* feel better about it all?" 

"I..." 

Both of Gabriel's eyebrows are up. 

She can *feel* her expression becoming more pinched and resistant and *narrow* by the *moment* -- no. 

*No*. 

"I feel better," she says, and does not glare. 

Does not -- 

"I *dislike* everything *about* that particular truth, but -- I feel better." 

He grins at her -- and winks. "Shall we tug this conversation to warmer climes...?" 

"Like my self-*loathing*?" 

"*Oh*, yes, Michael --" 

"How is that *warmer*?" 

"Because," he says, and *grips* her cunt with one hand -- 

"Fuck --" 

*Lifts* her -- 

"Oh -- *fuck* --" 

"Because, Michael, your self-loathing is tied *directly* to that beautiful fantasy you *started* telling me about..." 

She stares at him... very stupidly. She *stops* that. 

She -- no. There is one way to move forward with her mind leaking *steadily* all over Gabriel's *hand*. 

"Gabriel, I -- please tell me how."


	3. Even animals have to think sometimes.

"Anything you'd like," he says, and licks his lips, squeezing *hard* -- 

"*Ungh* --" 

He sets her down -- and doesn't move his hand in the *slightest*. 

"Please --" 

"Michael. You want -- *dream* about -- a human to take you away from all your *lofty* ideals. Everything that's just as clean and dry and *sterile* as those Vulcan deserts, mm? You're dreaming about -- *drooling* for -- a human to get you *dirty*, Michael --" 

"I --" 

"A *human* to get you sweaty and rank and *filthy* -- just the way you were *always* meant to be, because all of those good, clean Vulcans are just a bit *beyond* the human in you... and they always, *always* will be," he says, and raises an eyebrow. 

And -- her eyes are wide. 

Her mouth is *dry* -- and no other part of her is. 

No -- "Please." 

He inclines his head. "Tell me what I *do* to you when you're fourteen, Michael... and I'll tell *you* what I *did* to... another fourteen-year-old entirely," he says, and shows his teeth. 

"Please -- please don't hurt yourself --" 

"I *won't*. I've been dancing around this --" He shakes his head. "I know you *need* it now. I know you *want* it. That... is the only thing that matters." 

She groans and arches *helplessly* -- 

"My Michael. Would it help you talk if I..." And he stops gripping and pushes two fingers *deep* in her cunt -- 

She *yells*, helpless and clenching --

Dropping and arching again immediately -- 

"Gabriel, *please* --" 

"This is all you get, Michael... until you *talk*." 

She moans and clenches again -- he's so hard in her, so *thick* -- 

She knows what will be thicker, warmer, *better* --

"I -- we are in the dojo at the learning center!"

"The one nearest to your home? Or something more deniable." 

"I -- I -- *close* --" 

"Familiar. Safe?" 

"Yes --" 

"Because you're good at *everything* you do -- including besting faster and stronger Vulcans at their *own* schools of martial arts. Aren't you." 

"Not -- not all --" 

"But some," he says, and crooks his fingers -- 

"*Hnh* -- Gabriel --" 

"Yes or no." 

"Yes!" 

"I come to you there. Perhaps... no. You tell me. What *deniable* thing do I do there? Is there anything, at all?" 

She moans and pictures it -- 

Pictures it *again*, because it's been in her dreams, waking and sleeping -- 

She hasn't been able to -- 

"Michael," he says, low and *warning* -- and starts tugging his fingers free -- 

"*Please!" 

"You know precisely what to do..." And he's studying her so hotly, so *hungrily* -- 

She blushes *hard* -- "I -- Sarek hires you. For me." 

He opens his mouth -- 

He *smiles*, and it's lost for a moment between quirked and *impressed* -- 

And then he licks his teeth. "And what am I to teach his young ward." 

"He. He wishes me to learn -- more. More schools of martial arts. More -- the martial arts of other species, including humanity." 

"Because that's what you are?" 

"He doesn't..." 

"Say that...?" 

"He does not say that, no. But." She blushes more *deeply* -- and breathes. "That is what I *think* he means -- when I am fourteen. That is what I *believe* when I am fourteen -- and it hurts me. Badly," she says, and looks up into Gabriel's eyes. 

Gabriel sighs, shifting on his knees enough that his cock bobs and drips on her -- 

Drips *copiously* -- 

"I see that on you. That *hurt*. Don't I." 

"I -- I -- right away. You are... an insightful man." 

He licks his lips. "Do I... urge you to speak with me, Michael? Tell me all about what it's *like* to be a human girl surrounded by Vulcans at all times?" 

She shakes her head -- 

"No...?" 

"You -- you smile. You laugh -- you teach me jokes. You introduce me to human foods. You." It feels as though her face is *aflame*. "You tell me -- about your life --" 

"I invite you *into* my life. I see..." And he licks his lips and starts to *thrust* with his fingers -- 

"Oh -- *oh* --" 

"I do all this while I'm *training* you." 

"Yes --" 

"I do all this... while I'm *hurting* you in the interests of your *education*," he says and thrusts *deep* -- 

She grunts and *whines* -- 

"You like that. You like my... mm. But we still have a few things to establish," he says, and thrusts -- 

And thrusts -- 

"Please -- *please*, Gabriel -- oh, no --" 

But his fingers are already out of her -- 

She's already *empty* -- 

And he is sucking and licking his fingers clean, biting them and humming -- 

"Gabriel --" 

He *slurps* his way off his own fingers. "Michael," he says, and looks *into* her. "I did the very same things -- nearly -- with my Princess..." 

"I -- I --" 

"But you knew that. Of course you did. I gave you all the clues, and you were *more* than smart enough to put them together. I... mm. She was so *vulnerable* to anyone who would show her *their* vulnerabilities -- or seem to. 

"I had to show her that. 

"I had to *teach* her that, so she could *protect* herself, and it was far more efficient to do so *while* teaching her how to wreak havoc with her lithe little body in various ways... well," he says, and smiles. "She responded to that teaching -- all of that teaching -- powerfully. And I responded to *that*... very powerfully, indeed." 

And she can see it -- 

She can see his hands on her as she was and never was --

She can see his *strong* hands, and his strong *body*, and he would have her pinned in one way or another -- no. 

He would have her pinned *that* way: Cheek to the mats, dominant left arm wrenched behind her back, right arm numbed or splayed uselessly, and legs too spread for *leverage*. 

And then he would -- but. 

But. 

"How -- how did she respond to you?" 

He raises an eyebrow and slips his hand back down to the opening of her cunt -- 

Presses hard but not *in* -- 

It's all she can do not to *grind* on his fingers until they *are* -- 

"Be still, Michael." 

"I -- yes, Gabriel." 

"Good girl -- I..." He inhales deeply. "A part of me only wants to ask you what *you* think she did, wants to *know* you that way -- but that isn't what I promised." 

"Please. I -- please." 

"She asked me to touch her. Just like that. 'Please touch me, Gabriel.'" 

"Oh --" 

"I was still... mm. I was still, at that point, working from my *curriculum*. I meant to lure her into offering further intimacy, and thus show her the precise *vulnerabilities* within her which had to be eradicated. At least... 

"I thought that's what I was doing," he says, and smiles wryly. "I thought... mm. She was beautiful, of course. Dark where the scars weren't pale and *humped* on her flesh. She sparred in very little clothing, as a general rule. Philippa had already ascended to the throne, and the Emperor's *domain* onboard the _Charon_ was, generally, warm. Humid. 

"She was wearing... light, loose trousers. Tabi. A breast band -- more for comfort than anything else. She hadn't begun to develop to any true degree, and the buds were... sore. Often," he says, and narrows his eyes in *obvious* lust. 

Michael shivers, and -- "I -- was the same. At that age." 

"You wore a band." 

"Yes --" 

"Did you also wear a shirt? Or...?" 

"As rarely as possible. Vulcans do not climate-control their dojos as stringently as they control other environments." 

He smiles sharply -- "One *must* always build character." 

She smiles *wryly* -- and immediately *gasps* when he pushes in with *three* fingers -- 

"You can take this." 

"I -- I --" 

"You can take... all of me." 

"*Yes* --" 

"I did... this," he says, and, all at once, his expression softens even as his eyes *heat*. 

"Oh --" 

"I said: 'How do you want to be touched, Michael? Do you know?'" 

Michael swallows. "I -- I would have said no. And meant it." 

"Yes? Even with such an excellent education?" His expression -- his *affect* -- doesn't *change* -- 

"I masturbated as rarely as possible. I rushed through bathing, dressing, I -- I didn't." 

"But you wanted to."

"Yes, I -- badly." 

"Were there fantasies about the Vulcans around you?" 

"I would... be caught. In close proximity, during one or another's pon farr." 

"Caught -- not chosen." 

"N-no --" 

"But you know exactly how much I want to choose you with... every part of me," he says, and sighs again, and starts to *twist* his three fingers into her -- 

Michael shivers and does her best to take them faster than he is *giving* them -- 

Does her best to ride them, to -- 

To take -- 

"Michael... be *still*," he says, and his eyes are even hotter, even -- 

"Your eyes are so --" 

"*Stop*." 

Her teeth click shut and she -- obeys, shuddering and *quivering* -- 

Clenching so *tightly* around Gabriel's fingers and wanting -- 

*Wanting* -- 

And Gabriel shudders hard and pants -- "Good girl. Let me tell you... more." 

"Yes --" 

He nods and thrusts *deep* once more --

"Hnh --" 

"She told me that she wanted me to touch her cunt, and her clit. She told me that Philippa -- she called her 'Mother' -- had explained the fundamental realities of sexuality to her some time ago, and that she had never wished to have anything to do with it until she met me. 

"She told me that, when she looked at me -- when she even *thought* about me -- it felt as though she had taken a blow to her sternum, massive and --" 

"Breathtaking -- I." 

He looks at her -- and licks his lips. "Michael. Yes." 

"Did -- did she -- was there more?" 

"Yes. She told me that she had tried and failed to replicate the feeling at other times. That she had come to crave it, and ache in other ways when it wasn't there. She told me that she thought she had been... numb. Before me. 

"She told me she didn't want to be numb, anymore -- especially not with me.

"She told me that the obvious solution was for me to touch her where she was most sensitive. To... make her *feel* me there." 

Michael *grunts* -- 

Clenches around Gabriel's fingers again -- 

*Again* -- 

And Gabriel starts to rock them slowly -- 

*Gently* -- 

"I was... I tried, very hard, to seize on that. To pull her out and *away* from the feelings and desires she was developing for the person I had shown myself to be. I tried to remember that I was not that person." 

"You -- couldn't." 

The expression on his face -- slips. Enough for a *wry* smile to peek through. "I could. I've always had an... mm. Healthy *enough* sense of self-preservation. What I *wanted* in that moment -- 

"What I *craved* and *ached* for --

"I still knew, perfectly well, that taking it the way I *wanted* to take it -- the way *she* was asking me to take it -- was suicide. I just... didn't care." 

"Oh... Gabriel." 

"Not enough to do more than check the soundproofing, the locks... all the little and *immediate* things. Another part of me began planning for more... sustainable locations for assignations. The rest of me…" 

The wry smile is gone, just that quickly, leaving in its place the hot look, the hungry and -- no. 

It's a *starved* look, and Michael knows that it's for every iteration of her, in every universe, and -- 

"Please -- please let me *move* --" 

"Shh," he says, and begins the corkscrewing thrusts again -- 

Michael moans *loudly* -- 

"Shh," he says again. "Just a little longer." 

"Y-yes --" 

"I said: 'Michael... will you let me help us both *decide* how I go about touching you...?' 

"And: 

"'Will you let me show you... all the *ways* I want to touch you.' It wasn't a question. I couldn't get one out, at that point. She was *thinking* about *my* questions -- considering them *honestly*, even though we could *both* smell how wet she was. 

"How *ready*. She was -- 

"Her beautiful *mind* -- and yours, Michael. *Yours*." 

Michael shivers. "I -- I don't have anything so -- so --" 

"What *do* you have? How does your new sensei *treat* you when he sees how much you ache for him? When he smells how *wet* you are." 

"I -- I try to deny it --" 

"To my face?" 

"He doesn't -- *you* don't ask. Not at first." 

"What *do* I do," he says, and fucks her *faster* --

"Unh -- unh -- unh unh *unh* -- oh, please --" 

\-- and then slow again, so -- 

So *slow* -- 

"Answer me, Michael." 

"You *touch* me. You -- move closer than you should. Your touches *linger* more than they should. You -- gentle me. Precisely the way you *did*." 

Gabriel parts his lips -- and licks them. "Do you realize what I'm doing? Even then?" 

"No. I -- no." 

Gabriel pants again -- 

Again -- 

And presses his thumb to her clit. Just -- presses, and doesn't move it, doesn't *stroke* -- 

But it makes Michael feel every spasm within herself, every -- 

Every *throb* -- 

She cries out -- 

"Michael. Michael, please give me more --" 

"The -- I'm aroused when we *spar*. I'm. I can see *you* see it. I can --" 

"You're embarrassed." 

"Yes --" 

"Blushing so -- hot," he says, and presses more firmly -- 

"*Gabriel*!" 

"More. More for me," he says, and he's as slick with sweat as she is, and his eyes are narrow and dark, and his lips are parted -- 

His cock is so *hard* -- 

"Look *up*, Michael." 

"Fuck -- oh, *fuck* --" 

She does -- 

His eyes seem to *blaze* -- 

His hair is wild from her fingers and his own sweat -- 

His *tongue* is showing, just a little, and she doesn't know if it's a reward for good behavior when he starts fucking her fast and hard, fast and *deep* with his three fingers -- 

He's holding his hand in a way that makes his thumb just *glance* off her clit -- 

Over and *over* -- 

She's grunting and moaning -- 

Struggling not to *arch* -- 

"*More*." 

"You -- can see that I'm begging!" 

"Now? Or then." 

"*Both*!" 

"You know I can't resist that from you. Not for long, anyway. You know -- ah, fuck, you've always *known*," he says, pulling out with his fingers -- 

"*Please*, Gabriel!" 

\-- and shoving her right leg *up* before pushing in with his cock -- 

In so -- 

In and *in*, and he's thrusting before he's all the way in, he's panting and *groaning*, he's -- 

He's *fucking* his way in, thick cock spasming as much as her cunt -- or more. She can't tell anymore, can't tell where she ends and he *begins*. 

All she knows is that he's *inside* her, finally -- 

And she can hook her right leg over his shoulder -- 

Her left around his *waist* -- 

His eyes fly open -- she had missed him closing them -- and he looks shocked, starved, wild, determined -- countless other things. 

She reaches up for his face -- 

He *grips* her hand and brings it to his mouth, licks it, sniffs it, *bites* it -- 

"*Please*, Gabriel --" 

He shoves in hard, hard again, *again* -- 

Michael sobs and nods, *nods*, wishes she could be more coherent -- 

She's not even certain what she's *asking* for, considering the fact that there is a *very* large cock opening her, *fucking* her open, *wide* open -- 

She groans -- 

Feels herself *drooling* -- 

Feels herself -- 

All but *drifting* -- 

Gabriel is fucking her so hard, so *roughly*, and her body can take exactly this, *wants* exactly this -- as much as it can possibly *get* it -- 

She's had *years* to use herself with toys replicated to her specifications -- 

Years to *experiment* with those specifications, based both on previous lovers and the *stories* she'd overheard at the Academy and beyond. 

Her body -- *hers* -- is made for *this*, and always has been. She -- 

She is human, *nothing* but human, fucked hard and wild into the body of an animal who doesn't entirely know what to *do* with sentience, but who has been given that gift just the same. 

She is -- 

She is *here*, and Gabriel is growling out sounds that seem *punched* out of him -- 

Gabriel is fucking her with *machine*-like viciousness -- 

Gabriel is staring *into* her all but unblinkingly, staring with such *desperate* openness that Michael can't bring herself to blink more than necessary, herself -- 

She -- 

They're *staring* into each other, and Gabriel's eyes are nearly *black* with his hunger for her, for this, for the girls she and his Princess *used* to be -- 

Michael *spasms* for that thought -- 

Bucks and *struggles* to arch -- 

He snarls and fucks her *harder* --

She *screams* -- 

"Michael -- *Michael*. Tell -- *tell* me!" 

"You -- you are -- the *girl* in me --" 

"Tell --" 

"You pin her, you touch her, you -- all *over* --" 

"Every -- every *part*," he says, and moves his hands to her hips, grips them and starts *yanking* her into his thrusts -- 

"*HNH --" 

"Every part of *you*," he says, and -- 

"Please, *yes* --" 

"Every part of my -- my little human *animal* --" 

"Oh -- oh, *fuck* --" 

"*Mine*," he says, and it's rough enough now, *fast* enough now, that Michael feels like a willing ragdoll, like something eminently portable and meant to be *used*. 

Moved and *used* -- 

She can't -- 

She can't hold back a *smile* -- 

"Oh -- *Michael*, I --" And the rest of that is a *strangled* sound as Gabriel throws his head back and slams *in* -- 

In -- 

*In*, and he's coming inside her, filling her -- 

It always feels as though he's *filling* her, taking her over completely, changing something *fundamental* about her with nothing save his cock and his semen. 

Like this -- 

Like *this*: Panting and *shaking* beneath Gabriel, spread and *bent* *around* Gabriel, fucked and *open* for Gabriel -- 

Like *this*... that feeling seems no more implausible than any other religious tenet. She reaches up for his face, which is just a little difficult to see in the always-dim light of his bedroom. 

He lifts his head immediately, though, and stares at her with hungry shock, hungry *desperation* -- 

Kisses her *fingers* -- 

"Tell me. Tell me how I make you come in the *fantasy*." 

"Oh --" 

"*Am* I patient enough to do it with my cock at least once? Even though you're tight and young and *just* that new for me...?"

Michael clenches and -- 

The sound that comes out of her is nearly a *caw* -- 

"Gabriel --" 

"I wasn't that patient with my Princess. My beautiful -- but I followed *instructions*, Michael. I used my *fingers* on -- and in -- her clit and cunt. I brought her off that way... three times in a row, occasionally nuzzling in to lick her clean. 

"To *drink* her." 

"Oh --" 

"I was making just as much noise as she was, Michael. I was --" He shakes himself and *rocks* into her cunt -- 

Again -- 

*Again* -- 

Over and over and she can't hold back a moan -- 

She doesn't know why she's *trying*. She nods and grinds up into it, offers, clenches as rhythmically as she *can* -- 

"*That*, Michael -- do that --" 

"Did she --" 

"When I was in her. When --" He blows out a breath. "She was tired. Shaking. *Mewling* -- I knew she was sore." 

"Did she -- beg?" 

"She begged me not to *stop*," he says, and starts fucking her faster -- 

Faster -- 

He's not softening anymore. He -- 

Michael shudders -- 

Shakes and loses the *rhythm* of her clenches -- 

"Mm, I -- can't you squeeze me tight, Michael?" 

"I -- I --" 

"Or do you just need to take it from me. *For* me." 

Michael's cunt flexes -- 

It feels like she's *gaping* even as her inner tissues feel puffy, *swollen* -- there is one way to *do* this --

"Please -- I -- please *fuck* me!" 

"Harder, Michael?" 

"Do not stop!" 

"But should I do it *harder*. Should I *hurt* you the way I'm hurting *myself*." 

Michael grunts and clenches so hard it feels as though Gabriel's cock has grown *impossibly* -- 

Gasps and clutches at his *face* -- 

Gabriel is groaning and *shaking* -- and fucking her steadily, fast and *steadily* -- and no harder than he was before. "Michael." 

"Did you -- with *her*." 

"I hurt her because I was *big*. Not because *either* of us begged for it that day," he says, and his teeth are gritted -- 

He's sweating and *flushed* -- 

His body looks slick and obvious, *rude*, and Michael wants -- 

She *wants*.

She puts *both* legs on his shoulders -- 

"*Fuck*, Michael --" 

"I cannot -- breathe --" 

"*Michael* --" 

"I cannot *think* -- *fuck* me!" 

He growls and -- gives her himself, looming over her even more -- 

Bending her *legs* back even more and gripping her by the hair -- 

Gripping her by the *throat* -- "Don't breathe -- even a little," he says, *quietly*, and *squeezes* her throat -- 

Her eyes fly open wide -- 

She gasps and gets *nothing*, *nothing* -- and she clenches hard for it, bucking and bucking and *writhing* beneath Gabriel as he shoves in -- 

Shoves in so *deep* -- 

Shoves in so -- not harder. 

Not *harder*, because she hadn't asked for it, because she hadn't *demanded* it, because -- 

And maybe they are both in two places right now, because the fantasy of Gabriel had touched her fourteen-year-old self here, as well -- 

Touched *possessively*, with absolute entitlement to every vulnerable part of her body -- 

Held her -- 

Held her *down* -- 

"Michael..." 

Yes -- down so -- 

"Michael, I -- I think I should fuck you *again* after this --" 

She bucks and twists -- 

She can't -- 

She can't *yell* -- 

"I think I should fuck you until you're. Wrung out. Limp. *Blind*," he says, and squeezes her throat *tighter*. 

She *kicks* his back -- oh, but she didn't mean -- 

He can't stop -- 

Please never -- 

"Shh, it's all right. It's -- my Michael. You never have to. Have to *worry*," he says, and starts panting and shoving in faster -- 

*Faster* -- 

"Never have to -- nngh. I'll always fight just as hard as you want me to. I'll --" He *grips* her throat and *shakes* her -- 

She clenches and flexes over and over -- 

She feels her eyes roll *back* -- 

Her cunt won't stop *spasming* -- 

"That's right, Michael. That's -- go on and do it. Go on and *come* on my cock --" 

She wants to nod she wants to yell she wants to -- 

"Go on and -- and get me even *dirtier* --" 

She twists and -- and *arches* -- 

"We belong in the muck *together*," he says, moving his hand from her hair -- 

Please -- 

Slapping her *ass* -- 

*Please* -- 

And then he's doing it *harder*, spanking her *harder* even as he fucks her, even as he *chokes* her, and she can't -- 

There's nothing -- 

She thinks, for a moment, that the human lack of ability to meld minds with a lover is just one more *failing*, one more proof of *imperfection* -- 

And then Gabriel *forces* her to face front, *shakes* her by the throat until she focuses -- 

Focuses on his wild, pained, *endlessly* hungry gaze, his -- 

"*You*, Michael. *Always* you." 

She opens her mouth -- and nothing comes out but the choked *whistle* of her desperate scream, her *lost* scream, because she's spasming for every thrust, coming *apart* one thrust at a time in one of those long, tumbling, *thundering* orgasms that have always -- 

Always -- 

And she'd never *had* one while someone else was fucking her, holding her, *controlling* her -- 

Never -- 

It's rolling through her entire *body*, and she knows there are tears on her cheeks, knows that she's *whining* for it -- 

"Oh -- Michael..." And Gabriel *releases* her throat --

Michael gasps -- 

Her entire *body* spasms -- 

She's shaking like -- like she's *ill* -- 

And Gabriel is lowering her legs -- 

*Holding* her legs by the backs of her knees and fucking her even faster, even -- 

His grunts are so loud, so dirty, so -- 

The sounds are so dirty and *wet*, and Michael is still gasping, still *moaning* -- 

It feels like stars are flaring and fading in her cunt, all over her cunt -- 

It feels like she's being gently *electrocuted* with the pleasure of a post-orgasmic euphoria which isn't being allowed to *settle* within her -- 

It feels like it will last forever, just like *this*, and so the only thing to do is wrap her arms around Gabriel and hold him, pet him -- 

He sobs -- 

He gasps and *sobs* -- 

His rhythm stutters, brutal and *sharp* -- 

And Michael clenches for it, works for it, works *him*. Gives herself to Gabriel, touches him with her cunt the way she wants to work him with her ass, her hands, her *mouth* -- 

"I -- I -- *Michael* --" 

"Come for *me* --" But she doesn't even get his name out of her mouth before he's *yelling* and coming again -- 

Yelling and spasming inside her, again and again -- "I -- *fuck*," he says, and shifts abruptly -- he braces himself awkwardly on his hands above her, and nearly immediately collapses, pectorals, deltoids, and trapezii straining as his arms *shake*. 

Michael shivers and -- no. She grips him with her arms and legs -- 

"Michael --" 

And *yanks* him down on top of her -- 

"Nnh --" 

"Mmm..." 

"Fuck, I -- *Michael*. Can you *breathe*?" 

She *lets* him push up enough that they can meet each other's eyes. And then she raises an eyebrow. 

He coughs a laugh -- and pants. "All right, you *do* have a point, but --" 

"Are you going to say something about 'the heat of the moment'...?" 

His *eyes* heat immediately -- 

And Michael's cunt *flexes* -- 

And Gabriel's expression turns... adorably *conflicted*. 

"You are thinking, I believe, about how sensitive your cock might feel were I to encourage you to fuck me again immediately." 

"I am not only *thinking* about it, Michael, I'm making *plans*." 

"Gabriel." 

"I'm *also* making plans for the afterglow of that particular fantasy, which include the use of assorted useful hyposprays I keep scattered around these quarters --" 

She snorts *helplessly* -- 

And he grins... wonderingly. "Michael." 

"The way you *look* at me... it isn't only because people from your Empire do not -- *cannot* -- 'waste' time in courtship, and." 

"I'm listening," he says. "Gazing at you with shameless adoration, but -- still listening." 

"Gabriel..." She shakes her head. "It *also* is not only because I am a Michael Burnham, when the Michael Burnham from your universe was the most important person in your *life*." 

He smiles... much more sharply. "No. It isn't. On both counts." 

"I --" 

"And, if I may *say* so, Michael?" 

"What?" 

He kisses her chin, and then her right cheek, and then her *left* cheek, and then her mouth. Softly. "I am very, very happy that you see that." 

Michael blinks -- and *then* thinks about what she had just said -- 

What she had just *admitted* to -- 

"I -- I only meant --" 

"You *meant* to take me to task for being madly in love with *exactly* the woman you are... when you've spent a *very* large fraction of your life being taught, explicitly and implicitly, that no one could love that woman, at all." And he *looks* at her. 

Michael... suspects that she looks somewhat stricken. 

Gabriel confirms this by rolling to the side and gathering her close. *Holding* her close, and warm, and safe -- 

Kissing her forehead -- 

Petting her back in long, firm strokes -- 

She sighs. 

"Hmm. That sounded more *dejected* than comforted." 

"I..." She pushes closer because she *can* -- 

He makes a soft sound of pleasure. "Tell me?" 

"I *had* been hoping to spend just a *little* bit more time *relaxing* with you before I was faced with yet more proof of my fundamental lack of psychological *fitness*." 

He snorts -- coughs. "Ah... my fault?" 

She punches him. Lightly. 

"We could talk about the dirty sparring -- how much *do* I have to manage to hurt you before I'm allowed to start blatantly molesting you?" 

That... "Hm." 

"You hadn't thought about that, yet? Or...?" 

"In the fantasy, the *actual* sparring lasted long enough that we were both quite slick with sweat, but... we were also *both* already *aroused* when we started sparring. It might not take very long, at all." 

"The *sweat* is the measure?" 

"That... and other bodily fluids." 

Gabriel hums and squeezes her. "You're such a *juicy* woman. I *love* that." 

Michael considers that compliment. 

Studies it, within the confines of her own mind. 

Prods it with long, sterile tweezers -- 

Gabriel laughs softly. "Not that word, mm?" 

"I am, despite what your upbringing might have taught you, not *food*." 

"Or a beverage?" 

"Or -- Gabriel." 

Gabriel laughs harder and presses a *lingering* kiss to her temple. "Some people in my universe do it, you know. Eat their partners." 

"I." 

"You know, whichever one dies first. A final act of devotion. It's usually only the really religious types, though -- the people who *really* hold to the old ways. It's never been my sort of thing." 

Michael fights the pinching of her features as hard as she *can* -- 

She does not *want* to be pinched at this moment! There is nothing objectively *wrong* with *consensual* cannibalism! It's only the *rest* of it, the -- 

The *criminals* and the *political* prisoners and the *slaves* and whatever else Gabriel had *elided*. 

Everything else. 

Everything else... that Gabriel had, eventually, made her... feel better about. 

*Accept*. 

*Laugh* about. 

Here, in this moment of clarity -- and Michael has no illusions that she can trust any clarity to be *truly* clear when she is burrowed as deeply as she *can* be in Gabriel's *arms* -- 

Every last one of her parents -- *including* Philippa -- would have pointed commentary for that: What, precisely, *should* one do if one's intimate partner -- one's *lover* -- is *masterful* at destroying one's ability to think clearly? 

The *obvious* answer is to walk away, take a break, take a *breath* -- but. 

There is, outside of this dark, close, and *humid* space she shares with Gabriel...

There is approbation from the vast majority of her shipmates, and *tentative* offers of only the most shallow sorts of companionship from a *few* of the others. 

There is *Ash*, who wants more from her than she can give, and, she thinks, *less* than Gabriel has taught her to *want* to give. 

There is *Tilly*, who is, Michael thinks, her friend -- *truly* her friend, in a way that no one ever was while Michael was doing her best to *be*... the best. While Michael had no time for anyone but Philippa, and those small and large activities which could and would advance her career. 

There is Tilly, and she has been patient, and caring, and accepting -- more than that. She has *offered* her friendship in ways Michael has only seen in holos, where friends share information about their lovers in positive ways, for positive reasons, and grow closer *through* that sharing. 

It's something else Michael has never had -- has never thought *to* have -- and -- 

And she could. 

There *is* a place she could go to outside of this one, and Tilly would, Michael thinks, even understand how difficult it had been to *get* from being buried in Gabriel to that other place. 

She --

*Tilly's* relationship experience tends to make Michael feel less like a fumbling teenager in the body of an adult than like a *blastocyte*. 

This, too, is a reason to push herself out of Gabriel's arms, to stand, to gather her clothes and *go*. 

She could use *actual* advice -- not just that which she writes for herself and forces into the voices of her parents. 

She could -- but. 

At what point -- and how -- would she bring up Gabriel's *history*?

It's the *plan* to -- once they're a little farther out from under the admiralty's *thumb* -- *tell* the crew of the _Discovery_ about the fact that Gabriel is from an alternate universe, that he had been torn here against his will -- and possibly swapped with the Gabriel from *this* universe -- and that *one* of the reasons they're making so many jumps is so that they can find a way to *get* to the other universe. 

But. It -- 

Gabriel kisses her temple softly. "How much am I letting you brood, mm?" 

"A bit. More." 

He nuzzles her and seats his arms more comfortably around her. "Anything." 

She shivers and shivers and -- no. 

She has to *think*. 

She has to think about the fact that the only result of telling Tilly -- or the rest of the crew -- anything even *close* to the *whole* truth about Gabriel will be a pariah of a captain and a *mutinous* crew. 

They -- 

They wouldn't *accept*. 

They *couldn't* accept, not with Gabriel being who he *still* is -- and who he will always be, even should he never break a single Federation law for the rest of his life. 

They could not accept that, and the concept of asking them to do so is -- 

Is.

Exactly the sort of thing to occur to someone who has been compromised far beyond rational thought. 

She squeezes her eyes shut -- 

"Michael..." 

"Don't --" 

"What about that lesson I taught you, mm?" 

"I -- I *know* it does not have to be healthy or --- I *know* --" 

"But... you think it's still too much?" And his voice is so quiet, so soft, so -- 

He is *asking* her -- 

He is asking *for* her, and she can't -- 

"Think -- Gabriel, what of our *future*? What -- how can we *speak* to *anyone*?" And she pushes back enough to *look* at him -- 

He's smiling at her. He's *smiling*, and it's as soft as his voice, soft and broad and *young* again, *sweet* --

It -- 

He is not thinking the right *way* --

"*Gabriel* --" 

"*Our* future, you said." 

"I."

"As in... we're going to *have* a future," he says, and licks his teeth. "The *two* of us, Michael..." 

She swallows. She *blushes* -- 

He sighs. "I'm still not asking for a declaration. But... this: Do you think anyone *but* Amanda and Sarek know the deepest secrets of their marriage?"

She blinks -- 

"And I know you were young when they were stolen from you, but --" 

"My. My birth-parents..." 

"That's right. And it's not to say you won't have friends and acquaintances and *comrades* to share your life with, too. But... there are always hierarchies. Even in this warm, fuzzy universe. If there *weren't* hierarchies? You would've been much, much more annoyed with me when I tugged you away from Tyler." 

That -- "You're tempting me to sleep with him out of *pique*." 

"Hm, well..."

"*What*." 

He grins *evilly*. "If you *do* let pique spread your beautiful legs for him? Prepare to crush his *heart* in your cunt while you're flexing it around that entirely respectable cock of his." 

"I." She glares at him because she *must*.

Gabriel laughs *hard*. "Oh, Michael. He wouldn't raise my hackles so much if he wasn't an attractive, intelligent, brave, competent, *emotionally* competent, et cetera, et *cetera* man with? *Exceedingly good taste in people*. You'll note, as you move through this universe -- *hopefully* at my side -- that the best sorts of people will *all* want a piece of *you*." 

"And what of the other sorts of people, Gabriel...?"

He hums. "You never know when one of us will get wise... or wise *enough*. But what do you want me to say?" 

"The *truth* -- I. Always. Please." 

"Then here: Tonight, I had a choice in how I spoke to you about all those things. In *how* I chose to *phrase* all my honesty." 

She narrows her *eyes* -- 

"In one path -- the path I chose -- I kept things as light as possible. As *gentle* as possible, with as many *distractions* as possible, and with as much of a focus on keeping your morality blunted as possible." 

"I -- Gabriel, you --" 

"Just wait. There's more," he says, and -- he's not pleading. 

He's not -- 

"I promise." 

She frowns and -- "I am listening." 

"I knew that, with that path, there *would* be a reckoning, and that it would undoubtedly come sooner rather than later. You would attack the soft little baffles I placed around the parts of your mind which ask the *questions*, and then... well. Then you'd find yourself asking some very pointed questions -- of both of us.

"However, I would've built a foundation -- *more* of a foundation than what I'd already built with you. I would've built, in you, a *desire* to hold on to me --" 

"No --" 

"-- despite every *rational* and *logical* part of your mind screaming against it," he says, and raises an eyebrow.

She breathes. 

She -- 

She *shudders* and -- "What was. The other path." 

He inclines his head. "I'm just as blunt and direct as *you* tend to be -- only in my own style, of course. It would have probably come out more like the *Captain*, but -- well. 

"It's not like we both don't have that kink, mm?" 

"Don't -- just --" She shakes her *head*. "Keep going." 

"Anything for you, Michael. So: I'm blunt. I'm direct. I'm *honest*. There are no substantive changes in what I actually *say* to you, but the way I say it -- the lack of teasing and ruefulness, the lack of distractions, the lack of gentleness -- puts *your* hackles up. 

"You may be sick of mutiny, but you won't be sick of insubordination until about three years after we're *both* dead. In *every* universe." 

She resists the urge to *laugh* -- 

"No...? All right. You kick up against me. You fight -- I let you *make* it a fight, even though I'm bleeding all over you. I can do that. We *both* know I can act. And? It gets you right out that door, and back into Tilly's arms. 

"Maybe even Tyler's.

"And you are... in one *hell* of an emotional tangle. Because you can't, actually, share what's *actually* fucking you up so much about me with Tilly without hurting the *mission* -- and you'd do something like that about *five* years after you stopped being insubordinate -- and you can't have anything like a substantive conversation with Tyler without... well," Gabriel says, and smiles crookedly. 

She swallows. Just -- "Tell me." 

"You'll trigger his need to throw himself at you, Michael. We *both* know that. He's waiting for *half* an excuse to lay himself at your *feet* -- and everyone on this *ship* knows it. It's why he's been getting so many dirty looks just lately --" 

"Oh --" 

"Mm. Yes, *be* sympathetic to his plight -- because, in this scenario, *every* time he makes a declaration? Your *entirely* tangled self is going to remember *me* doing the same thing. How many ways I did it. What I was *doing* when I did it. What I might have *truly* meant when I did it. And so on. 

"And *that* will be on your face, more often than not --" 

"And. I will -- hurt him," Michael says, and -- stops. 

Rolls onto her *back* -- 

Stops and *breathes* -- 

And Gabriel rests his head on one fist and -- doesn't touch her. Yet. "You'll break his heart. Like I said. *Long* before the *strain* of trying to live two lives -- the life of Starfleet *aspirant* Specialist Burnham, who has a burgeoning and sweet young romance with Lieutenant Tyler; and the life of *Michael* Burnham, who is the personal *goddess*, co-commander, and co-*conspirator* of Gabriel Lorca -- breaks *you*. 

"Though -- it truly will," he says, and smiles ruefully. Not pleadingly.

Not -- 

But what if he's entirely aware of which of his tells she knows?

What if his tells were a lie to lure her *in*?

She moves her fingers to her temples and -- breathes. 

*Breathes*. 

"I am," she says, "under duress. Even when I choose you. I -- perhaps especially then."

He sighs. "Yeah, you are. It'll be that way... well. You don't *have* too many options for life in *this* universe." 

She is a prisoner. 

She is a *mutineer* -- 

She is -- but. 

What is she with Gabriel? 

What *could* she be, if not -- "You will not -- free me. From *your*... entanglements." 

"Michael..." And then he reaches out, and cups her face -- 

*Caresses* her face -- 

His eyes are so *warm* -- "I honestly don't know *how* to do that. It's not in me." 

She swallows, and nods, and reaches -- 

Not for Sarek's voice. Not that. In the state she's in now, she would wind up reaching for his actual *soul*. They need him where he is, for now -- negotiating with the Klingons from a position of *relative* neutrality while the _Discovery_ continues its program of wholesale destruction. 

*Their* program, and it *isn't* solely hers and *Gabriel's*. It --

They are... but. 

She cannot think of the mission, just yet. 

She cannot think of *anything* beyond -- this. 

And everything she does not know about relationships, everything she has *never* known, and everything she, even now -- 

"Michael..." 

\-- does not, truly, care to know. "Gabriel. I do not, yet, understand all the ways we are hurting each other." 

He takes a breath -- "I know. You will, though. Better than I do." 

She nods slowly. Thoughtfully. "Will I leave you then?"

He looms up over her, and begins to kiss his way down the center of her chest. "I don't know that, Michael." 

"No?" And she cups his head, because she must. 

Because it's Gabriel. 

Because everything he *is* belongs to her -- and only her.

"No," he says, and tongues her navel once -- 

"Nnh --" 

Twice -- 

"I --" 

"I only know that I'll follow when you run, Michael," he says, and kisses his way down and down --

And -- 

Down -- 

She moans and spreads her *legs* -- 

"I only know I'll always be yours." 

end.


End file.
